


Full Up

by WhoopsOK



Series: Tum-Tum [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Nancy Wheeler, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Minor Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Multi, Nancy and Steve are still together just not the main couple here, Polyfidelity, Pre-Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler, Pre-Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Shotgunning, Teasing, Weight Gain, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 19:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16311398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: “I like watching you eat!” Steve blurts and apparently kicks Jonathan’s train of thought right out of the station.“You—?” Jonathan blinks several times, face twisting. “What?”(Living in a dorm with Jonathan has given Steve a new, alarmingly unsubtle obsession.)Not related to the rest of the Tum-Tum series.





	Full Up

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 5: Feederism & Shotgunning
> 
> Hm… I think canonically Steve is just popular, not a jock? I don’t remember him actually being on any sport team, but shhh, just embrace it, you aren’t here for the plot, right?
> 
> Also, also, did this need to be this long? No! No, as a matter of fact, it did not! An excellent observation, but actually if you’ll see here—[knocks over a pitcher of water and jumps out a window]

Honest to goodness, Steve didn’t think it was a fetish at first, he was just…being nice.

Living in a dorm with Jonathan had never been part of his (non-existent) plan for college, but when Jonathan got a partial scholarship to the same university, one he was intending to turn down because it wouldn’t cover housing or food, well… Steve saw an opportunity to make up for more past douchery.

The athlete’s dorms were bigger anyway, of course they could share one.

And really, it works out better than expected.

Steve likes that Jonathan feels safe here, in a way he probably never did in high school. The jocks don’t really ‘get him’, but they get that he’s _Steve’s_ and that’s enough. They’re still a little rough because they’re knuckleheads, but Steve watches the way it’s chummy, not mocking. He watches as Jonathan is jostled halfway across the hall when they pat his back, but they still take his offers to study seriously. They straight up _fawn_ over the pictures he takes for them. There’s a halo of protection around Jonathan that rides mostly on his awkward charm, and only _partly_ on Steve being the resident basketball star.

Life’s pretty great, especially when Nancy can spend her weekends with them. She’s a few hours away, so it isn’t often, but both Steve and Jonathan being in the same place makes it easier. They all catch up at the same time, balking at the workload of Nancy’s honor college, taking pictures, sharing records broken and friends made, enjoying just _being_ together—life’s pretty damn good.

It is, however, one such visit that starts Steve’s interesting new problem.

It’s pretty close to Halloween so they’re all sitting around on Jonathan’s bed, eating junk food and candy while they watch tacky slasher flicks. At some point, Nancy is hoarding the bag of chocolates, and doling them out as she sees fit. Steve tells her to toss him one, catches it in his mouth to polite golf-applause. When she turns to offer one to Jonathan, he doesn’t try to catch it, just leans for it. Steve watches with something weird and hot in his chest as she presses a piece of chocolate into Jonathan’s mouth, laughing disgustedly when he sucks the melt off her finger.

Steve rolls onto his stomach, hot and weirdly embarrassed even though nobody has noticed.

They miss her something awful during the semesters, so he figures he’s got some wires crossed there. He’s hot for his girlfriend and missing her, he doesn’t figure it really even has anything to do with Jonathan, much less the food, but then it doesn’t _stop._ Even if at first he’s thinking about Nancy’s fingers on Jonathan’s lips, soon it’s getting harder to not get caught staring at Jonathan’s mouth anytime he’s eating.

Then he starts thinking maybe the “be nice” part of his brain—which has a voice a lot like Nancy Wheeler—is trying to tell him Jonathan isn’t eating enough. So Steve starts paying attention _more_ , just to be sure, of course. It _seems_ like he’s eating fine, but he’s still pretty spindly. So Steve invites him to lunch between classes more often, leaves fruit and snacks around the room, swipes him into the athlete’s dining hall and shrugs at his attempts at returning the favor. Sure, Jonathan can order takeout in for them; sure, midnight donuts sound like a great idea; sure, Jonathan can try some of Steve’s protein shake, sure, sure, sure. And Jonathan _does_ start looking fuller about the face, but that doesn’t alleviate Steve’s pressing issue, in fact, it seems to make it _bigger._

It only gets worse when Jonathan goes to parties with him, though, because he’s such a _wallflower_. He tends to alternate between sticking to Steve like glue and standing by the food, the two things overlapping more often than not.

They’re at a smoker party the night Steve has to actually acknowledge his, uh… new fascination.

Jonathan doesn’t smoke, and generally neither does Steve, but Steve doesn’t manage to fuck it up _every time he tries_. The third time it’s Jonathan’s turn, the guy reaches around him and hands the joint to Steve, laughing good-naturedly and patting Jonathan’s shoulder.

“He doesn’t know how to take a hit, shotgun him.”

“What?” Jonathan says, alarmed and Steve laughs, already a little dizzy. Steve loves that Steve’s laughter is enough to make Jonathan relax, even if he still looks confused.

Later, Steve will see the start of a porno that reminds him of this exact moment. But right now, he’s high and the little crinkle in Jonathan’s brow is funny and Jonathan needs his help, so sure, he’ll shotgun another guy, let’s give it a whirl, why don’t we?

“Open your mouth,” Steve says and takes a long drag, passing the joint on without looking. He holds it for as long as it takes him to lean into Jonathan’s face; time is dragging a little for him, Jonathan’s eyes going wide in slow motion. Steve catches him by the back of the neck when he goes to lean away. “Breathe in,” he says in a breath of smoke, before he blows it in a steady stream into Jonathan’s mouth.

Jonathan still coughs a little at first, but it’s tiny and he manages to hold most of it for his count. “Oh,” he says when he lets it out, still staring at Steve wide-eyed.

“Yeah, oh,” Steve snorts.

Then five minutes later, a little louder, “ _Oh._ ”

Steve is giggling at this point, as are most people as Jonathan’s high hits. “ _Yeah, oh!_ ” they all say.

After a while, people are up and dancing, outside jumping in the pool, but Steve’s crossfaded and happy on the floor beside Jon—

“Jonathan?” Steve says, half sitting up when he realizes Jonathan is not beside him anymore.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says from behind him and Steve tips his head back to see Jonathan blinking down at him, holding a plate piled high with finger food. As Jonathan sits down, a meatball already halfway into his mouth, Steve feels his good sense start to leave him.

Jonathan is high as a kite and stuffing his face, none the wiser to Steve’s internal meltdown as he tries to figure out why he’s getting hot enough that he’s actually in danger of getting hard _right_ _now_. Steve has no reason to make this any worse for himself, but his stupid mouth doesn’t get the memo.

Steve eyes the last bit of the join on the end table. “You want another hit?” he asks, casual as you like.

The words are slow to register, and Steve’s stomach clenches when Jonathan turns to face him, barbeque sauce on the corner of his lips. Jonathan licks it away, before smirking at him with squinted eyes. “Sure.”

Taking a long drag, Steve tells himself it’s not for courage, but he holds it a second longer than he normally would, just for the look on Jonathan’s face. He’s sitting there, leaned towards him mouth slack and slick and Steve is _stupid, this is stupid._

This time, when Steve leans over to give Jonathan the hit their lips brush and Steve can taste the grease on his lips and it makes his lungs stall up more than the burn of expensive weed. They stay like that a moment too long, Steve knows there’s no more smoke, but there’s something else tingling in his chest at the faint brush of Jonathan’s skin. When Jonathan falls back into his own seat—head back and eyes shut, laughing out in a breath of smoke—it takes all of Steve’s fragile self-control not to lean over and actually kiss him. His control nearly fails altogether when Jonathan smiles at him as he pops some candy into his mouth, because he wants to taste it off Jonathan’s tongue.

…Ok, so, maybe Steve has to admit to himself that he may have a bit of a problem.

But it’s not a big deal! All in all, Steve is managing this in the privacy of his own mind. Because, really, what’s the harm in looking, right? He respects Jonathan enough not to make any actual moves on him, regardless of the fact that Jonathan is on Steve and Nancy’s Approved Kiss List. The list was mostly a joke, an exception to exclusivity for Jonathan and Nancy _,_ not Jonathan and _Steve,_ because Steve isn’t interested in that sort of thing _._ Or, well, he hadn’t been then anyway. But so what if his obsession with Jonathan leaks into his dreams, leaves him leaking into his sheets? He’s a dude, whatever, weird sex dreams happen! Anyone would probably have a wet dream about Jonathan Byers licking up the stray droplets of syrup running down his wrist over breakfast. And, hey, buying Jonathan food is friendly, not creepy…. even if Steve spending the rest of the day thinking about the slide of a bomb pop between Jonatan’s lips definitely is. It’s not like Jonathan notices.

Except for how apparently he does, because one day over dinner Jonathan abruptly puts his burger down and puts his head in his hands. “Tell me what I did.”

Steve can only stare at him with wide eyes, lost. “What?”

“I fucked something up, but I don’t know how,” Jonathan says, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Dude, what are you talking about?” Steve stops eating, focuses solely on the tightness in Jonathan’s voice. “You didn’t fuck anything up, why would you even say that?”

Jonathan wipes a hand over his mouth. “Because—Look, I-I’m happy, ok? Here in college, yeah, but I mean. You and Nancy are…” He swallows, not finishing that thought as he launches to his feet and starts pacing. “I just want to know what I did wrong, because the look on your face after you look at _me_ sometimes, like you’re _disgusted_ , I just—”

Oh _shit_ , Steve thought he was controlling his face better, but Jonathan noticed the wrong parts of his expression. He was annoyed at _himself,_ not disgusted with _Jonathan_.

“I’m not _disgusted_ with you!” Steve exclaims, turning in his seat to watch Jonathan pace. It doesn’t make anything better though, because Jonathan’s face is still pinched with nerves and fear when he turns around and _no, no_ , Steve doesn’t want to see him like that ever again, things were _good._

Jonathan motions around them, between them. “Well, _something’s_ going on and I just want you to spit it out, because I can’t—”

“I like watching you eat!” Steve blurts and apparently kicks Jonathan’s train of thought right out of the station.

“You—?” Jonathan blinks several times, face twisting. “ _What?_ ”

Steve shrugs, uncomfortable now, but he’ll take Jonathan’s confusion over his pain. It was his own bullshit that caused all this, he can take a little embarrassment to fix things.

“I know you’re just one of those guys, you know? Can’t put on weight for shit, but you got—” Steve makes a sweeping motion at Jonathan, “You bulked up some since this semester, man! You look—” Nope, the fragile remnants of Steve’s straightness veer away from that comment. Not fast enough for Jonathan to miss it, his eyebrows jumping up, but Steve hurries on before he can say anything. “And I just like seeing it happen! You can pack it away when you want to and it’s just. I spend a lot of time with you! We eat together a lot, I can’t help but _see_ so then I start _thinking_ about it _._ It’s interesting, I don’t know. You’re the one with all the artsy words, I’m just—”

“You’re hard,” Jonathan says, voice flat with shock.

“What?” Steve says and then flashes red because, oh. He jumps to his feet and turns away. “I’m not—I’m not a freak, Byers, I—”

Jonathan cuts him off. “What’s wrong with being a freak? Got me this far in life,” he says, because he’s really, honestly the best friend anybody could ask for.

Steve hazards a glance at him, finds him looking a little baffled and amused, but not disgusted, not betrayed. Hesitant relief washes over Steve all at once, and he sits down again, mostly to keep his stiffy under the table. “I’m…” He doesn’t really know what he is, “I’m sorry.”

Jonathan shrugs. “Don’t be. It’s not…” He shakes his head, scratching it as he sits down. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s weird, but not _bad_. I just—I’m not used to the attention, but I know why you’re looking now.”

“…That’s it?” Steve says in disbelief. “Your buddy gets hard talking about you eating and that’s it. You’re not upset?”

Jonathan shrugs again, shakes his head. “No. Are you upset?”

It’s Steve’s turn to put his head in his hands. He’s not _upset_ exactly, but also, “Jon, I had a wet dream about you eating _pancakes_.”

_That_ puts a healthy splash of color on Jonathan’s face. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to deal, dude, this is new to me, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment, unsure of where to go with that. “Well. What do you _want_?” Jonathan finally asks, “From me?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t want to lose you, man. I’m happy here with you, too, you and Nancy are everything to me.”

Jonathan’s face looks so relieved and sweet in that moment it honestly hurts Steve’s heart to see. He laughs when Jonathan shoves him lightly. “I’m not going anywhere. That’s also not what I asked,” Jonathan says, “You’re not losing me, so what do you _want?_ ”

It’s sort of pathetic, really, that Steve can’t help the way his eyes drop back down to Jonathan’s half eaten food. He goes red as Jonathan follows his gaze, letting out a quiet laugh. “You’re pretty weird for a jock, Steve,” he says, before taking a massive bite out of his burger, “Bu’ I gue’th tha’s why I w’ike you.”

_Fuck, this can’t really be happening._

Though his brain is short circuiting through the entire meal, Steve is proud of himself for managing to string together a mostly coherent conversation. Even if the whole time Jonathan doesn’t lose that baffled and amused look he’s had since Steve confessed. His gaze goes teasing when he licks ketchup off his fingers, making Steve lose track of his sentence halfway through, mouth slack and openly staring. Jonathan has a lot of power over him, but doesn’t seem to want to use it to humiliate him, just rile him up so bad he won’t get up from the table for a good fifteen minutes after they finish eating. (And that’s only to run to the shower and almost immediately come in his own hand.)

It does something wonderful to Jonathan’s confidence and Steve has a front row seat and it’s _killing him._ He starts getting bigger portions just to slide Jonathan some, like a secret, dirty love letter passed silently between them, their companions none the wiser. Steve laughs with the other guys on cue and Jonathan asks someone to explain the joke, all of them looking at him so they miss how Steve’s breathing stumbles when Jonathan takes _Steve’s_ milkshake and nearly finishes it. Even though he’s taken to working out, Jonathan is putting on weight and wearing it well. Steve had gone from just thinking about him eating to thinking about how he fills out his clothes differently, how Steve wants to _bite_ the new softness at his sides _._

Nancy visits one weekend and Steve nearly has an aneurism when she puts her hands on Jonathan’s faint love handles when his shirt rides up, then she _squishes_ them so he jerks, tickled, and catches her in his arms. “ _Hey._ ”

“No, I like it, you’re getting soft,” she teases, shrieking with laughter when Jonathan picks her up with ease. Steve has to shake himself when she calls for him, lost in the sound of his own heartbeat, the hindbrain pride of feeding his—his _someone_ heating up his insides. Of course, he only makes it worse, tickling her while Jonathan holds her. They wind up a tangled mess on the bed, breathless with laughter, Nancy sitting with Steve laying between her legs, Jonathan half draped over Steve’s lap.

Steve putting in a pointed effort not to think about how Jonatan is heavier than he expected. He’s starting to learn he’s not nearly as subtle as he thinks when he realizes—Nancy’s eyebrow quirking at him—that his hand is resting on Jonathan’s stomach. “I think Steve likes it, too,” she says, stroking Steve’s chest. She sounds like she knows something, but she doesn’t sound like she’s asking anything so Steve doesn’t answer her. Likely, she can tell enough by his pounding heart and the red darkening his cheeks.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, covering is own face when Nancy just laughs. “I’m just being nice.” It’s a weak lie none of them buy.

Nancy kisses the top of his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I mean, he _does_ keep me well fed,” Jonathan says, with a dramatic sigh, looking down at his own stomach, before looking up to Steve. “I’m not complaining.”

That was likely meant to be a comfort, but it feels like being given more free reign than he’s already taken. It only gets worse when Nancy is hugging him goodbye, perfectly sweet and sad to be leaving, only to whisper in his ear, “ _If you break out the whip cream, I want pictures._ ” And she _has_ to mean it as a joke, or that she’d like silly polaroids of Jonathan spraying it directly into his mouth. Steve’s unprepared for his mind to supply him with the image of Jonathan licking whipped cream off _Steve’s—_

It’s not a thought he can pursue in broad daylight, with his girlfriend smirking at him like she knows exactly what she did. The quick kiss she plants on Jonathan jumps starts all their hearts, but then she’s grinning at them, waving as she backs her way to the bus. Steve feels Jonathan’s wide eyed, slack jawed look mirrored on his own face, both of them clearing their throats and turning away in the same moment.

There’s no jealousy, just a squirmy twist of warmth in Steve’s chest, but he doesn’t know how to put that into words. Jonathan must not know how to put whatever he’s feeling into words either, because coming in the dorm that night with a _disgustingly_ large bag of fast food seems like it could be an olive branch, but it doesn’t even remotely feel like one. It feels like Nancy’s kiss, it feels like a dare. Steve’s mouth has gone dry.

“Hungry?” Steve croaks.

Jonathan tips his head in a tiny shrug. “I could eat.”

Unsubtly, Steve shoves the assignment he’d been working on off the bed to make space for Jonathan beside him. Jonathan gives him a tiny smile when he sits down on the foot of the bed, that turns into a smirk when Steve angles to look at him better. They keep up the pretense of chatting because that’s what mealtime is for them, but when they’re alone, it’s also just an excuse to watch Jonathan eat.

Everything up to now, from Jonathan looking full in the face and soft about the sides, to him _teasing_ Steve, not only _letting_ him watch, but giving him a show, to him _kissing Nancy_ is making Steve feel something reckless building in his chest. If it were anyone else, he’d just—he’d risk it, but he won’t risk Jonathan, so he clamps down on it, the urge to just push him over and kiss him until he can’t breathe.

When Jonathan reaches across him for the bag of jelly donut-holes, Steve holds them out of the way. “Oh, you want some?”

Jonathan’s eyebrows raise a fraction, still half leaned over Steve. He’s breathing a little heavy with how much he’s eaten already. “That’s why I was _reaching_ for them, Steve,” he says, but then his eyes widen just a fraction in realization, face flushing pink. “Can… Can I have one?” he says, and opens his mouth.

Steve suddenly has his own breathing problems to contend with, looking at Jonathan’s slack mouth. “Sure,” he croaks, fumbling for one without looking away from Jonathan, sitting so close to him. He presses the whole thing into Jonathan’s mouth, watches him have to overcompensate to chew it all, breath pastry-sweet and Steve’s fingers against his sugary lips. Jonathan’s tongue flickers out against the pad of Steve’s finger; Steve’s heart is pounding.

“S’good,” Jonathan says, mouth still half full, “Can I have another?”

“Sure,” Steve says again, but it comes out rough and low this time. He is undeniably hard in his gym shorts, maybe even leaking at this point. “Open up for me?” he says and casually lays his hand on Jonathan’s thigh, feels the muscle jump under his hand before relaxing.

Chancing a glance down, Steve notes with a rush of heat that Jonathan is tenting his jeans, then that his jeans are rather snug. He holds the donut out from Jonathan this time, makes him lean into his space to taste it. Jonathan bites it in half, gets a burst of jelly down his chin for his trouble. The startled sound he makes could be as much from the jelly itself as from Steve surging forward to lick under his chin before it can drip on his shirt. Then again, that second action is probably more related to the way Jonathan groans, shivers, one hand suddenly tight in Steve’s shirt.

Steve has little frame of mind to be horrified at how desperate that was, mostly simmering with want from the touch of his tongue against Jonathan’s skin. _Any_ shame he may be feeling shatters when Jonathan turns sharply to give him a greedy kiss, biting and sloppy, a flatteringly inelegant attempt to get his mouth on Steve’s as quickly as possible. It’s an attempt Steve appreciates, grunting softly as Jonathan bows under his mouth even as he kisses him like he could devour him whole.

They don’t stop until Steve strokes his hand up Jonathan’s thigh and a shudder slides all the way up Jonathan’s body. Steve pulls back just slightly, hand staying carefully on his thigh and no higher. He’s panting with his forehead pressed against Jonathan’s cheek. “I’m not gonna do anything else if you don’t say anything,” he tells Jonathan quietly.

Jonatan swallows and Steve is close enough to hear it. “I’m… thinking about what to say.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you thinking?”

Jonathan doesn’t actually say anything, but his hand goes towards the remaining half of the donut hole Steve had almost forgotten he was holding, the jelly and sugar still clinging to his fingers. Steve stomach flips when Jonathan grabs him by the wrist and brings it close enough to eat out of his hand. He watches Jonathan chew the piece with Steve’s fingers on his lips, but then he swallows and, with a shuddering breath, slides them into his mouth.

Steve flashes hot all over, mouth falling open as Jonathan sucks his fingers clean, cheeks pink and hollowed, eyes half closed.

“Oh _fuck_ , man,” Steve groans, trembling as Jonathan’s tongue strokes between his fingers and yeah, _yeah,_ Steve’s definitely leaking into his boxers. “Can I—?”

Jonathan releases his fingers with a kiss to the tips. “You’re, uh. You’re right handed, aren’t you?”

That takes a moment to register, but oh, yes. Yes, Steve is.

With his left hand entertaining Jonathan’s mouth, feeding him another pastry, Steve turns on the bed to get a better angle to pop open the front of his pants. There isn’t a lot of subtlety—this foreplay has lasted for weeks, most in the last few hours. Even if Steve isn’t sure he knows what to do with someone else’s dick, he’s sure he can figure it out, hell if he won’t try. Feeling the heat of Jonathan’s arousal in his palm blows Steve’s mind a little, _more_ when Jonathan’s breath catches and his voice breaks around Steve’s fingers.

Steve puts the next donut in his own mouth, holds it between his teeth. Jonathan doesn’t even have to ask, leans forward and bites his half as Steve strokes him root to tip. It seems like he nearly forgets to swallow until Steve nips at his lip, swirling a thumb around the head of Jonathan’s cock.

“Shit fuck, Steve…” he gasps, his hips lifting into Steve’s hand.

“God, you’re so hot,” Steve whispers back, “Are you full?”

Jonathan’s voice hits a tone that could be described as a whine, something that for some reason goes right to Steve’s gut almost as much as Jonathan going suddenly slick in his hand. “Yes, _yeah_ , Steve please—”

“There’s one more,” Steve dares, picking it up. “Can you take one more? I think you can.”

“Oh, _fuck_ , ok, yeah, give it,” Jonathan begs and Steve does, presses it into his mouth, covers his mouth as he chews it.

“Greedy. You wanna come now, too?” Steve asks, stroking quicker, motioned eased with precome. Jonathan’s breath comes faster and faster across the back of Steve’s hand, face twisted with pleasure. His throat bobs as he swallows, allowing him to groan open-mouthed against Steve’s palm.

“ _Yeah, fuck, please,_ ” Jonathan gasps when Steve smears his spit onto his cheek to rest his thumb on the corner of Jonathan’s mouth, at least until he presses in to let it rest on his tongue instead.

Steve is going to dream about the look on Jonathan’s face for the rest of his life, can’t get his fill of it. “Fuck, what did you do to me, babe?” he asks, the endearment rolling off so easily he doesn’t even trip over it, “Every day, all the damn time, I just wanna stuff you full and get you off, you make me so hard, Jon.”

That wasn’t meant to be anything particularly hot, just the honest, rambling truth, but it makes Jonathan’s eyes widen before they roll up and he clenches them shut. He groans loudly, whole body twinging towards Steve as he pants and comes and Steve watches transfixed, so turned on a stiff breeze would—

“Ste—” Even if he could get the shape of Steve’s name around the press of his thumb, he’s cut off in the middle by a hiccup that jolts his whole body, ends on a tiny burp and what the _fuck_ , why is that the thing that, why, _why—_

“Oh, _oh,_ ” Steve is coming before he even manages to pull himself out of his shorts, getting cum all over them and his hand and— _oh fuck he’s touching himself with Jonathan’s come_ , “ _Jonathan._ ”

“Holy shit,” Jonathan says softly and if Steve wasn’t coming so hard his vision was blurring, he might bother to be embarrassed by Jonathan staring down at his cock as it jerks in his fist. As it stands, it’s all he can do to keep breathing as Jonathan presses kisses to the side of his stretched wide mouth until Steve comes down enough that he can finally hear Jonathan’s breathing over the sound of his own heartbeat, dreamily return his kisses.

“Jesus, Byers…” Steve breathes when Jonathan cradles his head as they kiss. Jonathan hums his agreement, but then lets out a breath like a laugh. “What?”

Jonathan sits back to look at him. “You came from me _burping_ on you?”

Steve flashes red to the roots of his hair, shoves him half-heartedly. “No, fuck off!” he exclaims, but Jonathan just laughs and leans against his side.

“No, no! That’s…” He messes with the edge of Steve’s shorts, and Steve refuses to give into shame at this point, even as Jonathan stares at his half hard, still slick dick. “That’s impressively gross, dude,” he smiles. It turns into laughter when Steve tackles him sideways, pins him threateningly to the bed even as he admits—at least to himself—his _serious_ face is a little pouty.

“When’d you get to be such an asshole?” Steve demands.

“Since you lost me twenty bucks,” Jonathan answers cheekily.

“Since I _what?_ ”

“I didn’t think you were actually that into me,” Jonathan explains, “but Nancy bet me twenty bucks I’d do something weird you liked and you’d finally just—”

“I hate both of you, you know that?” Steve tells him emphatically.

It’s dulled a little by the fact that he kisses Jonathan immediately following, but hey.

Steve thinks he got the message across.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…feeding your body is so much nicer than fighting it, isn’t it?


End file.
